


if we're dating, there must be romance

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Demisexual Jackson Whittemore, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Nervousness, Romance, Stiles Spoils People, funnel cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 16:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7515703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Jackson have been dating long distance for months, but now Jackson's back in the US and Stiles has set up some kind of surprise for his homecoming…</p>
            </blockquote>





	if we're dating, there must be romance

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [if it's romance, we must be dating](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6924769) by [tryslora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora). 



> This was originally written for Prompt #181 - Funnel Cake at fullmoon_ficlet. It is a sequel to another story, but I'm not making them into a series at this point, just linking them. This week's fluff is for Stiles and Jackson, who indulged in a little more angst, but it's very sweet at the end. I thought about doing an actual fair for the fair food, but decided against it in the end.

It’s been two years since Jackson left for London and coming home is like a constant reminder of everything he left behind. Berkeley isn’t Beacon Hills, but it’s still ketchup that tastes like it’s supposed to, and properly strangely flavored pizzas, and men walking hand in hand down the street. It’s also Danny and Stiles meeting him on campus and the three of them dragging each other through the two days of orientation, seeing every corner of campus as Jackson listens to them talk and sound so much like _home_.

And they smell like home. Like a little hint of Beacon Hills and pack and all the bits and pieces of himself that have been missing.

Even if Stiles is hands off, carefully not touching Jackson in front of Danny (or anyone else), it’s a good thing to see them. Jackson figures that he’ll get his chance to say _hello_ correctly when they drive back to Beacon Hills.

Until Stiles looks at him and his luggage and says, “Danny’s bringing you back.”

“What?” Jackson lifts one eyebrow, looking from Stiles and the Jeep to Danny and his ancient minivan that he inherited from his mother. “Since when?”

“Since I have to get back and get something done before you get there.” Stiles chews on his lower lip, stares at Jackson for long enough that Jackson can catch the scent of nerves starting to rise along with the patter of Stiles’s heart. Stiles moves quickly, all compact energy, surprisingly well-contained as he captures Jackson’s shoulders, holds him in place and touches lips to lips. The kiss is over before Jackson has a chance to react, and Stiles is flushed under the moles that dot his skin, a quick rush of pleasure in his scent. “I just want to make sure everything’s ready. Since you’re staying at my house for a month.”

Danny snorts softly, and in the time that Jackson takes to glare at him, Stiles yanks the door open and climbs into his Jeep. He leans out the window. “Drive safe, guys. I’ll see you back in Beacon Hills.”

Jackson just stands there, arms crossed and his luggage still on the sidewalk, watching as Stiles drives away. “What was that about?”

“Don’t know, but it’s amusing as fuck to watch the two of you dance around each other for two days, then follow it up with _that_.” Danny laughs out loud, pulls open the sliding door of the van. “Throw your shit in, Jackson. We’ll let him get a head start, let him set up whatever surprise he’s got planned. It’s probably candles, silk sheets, and roses. For your first time, or something. Stiles is a romantic little shit and he’s prone to big gestures.”

Stiles is definitely a romantic; Jackson can’t deny that. In the few months that they’ve been doing this dating thing long distance, Stiles has sent little gifts in the mail, bought him gift cards, made sure that Jackson gets to see his favorite movies on their online dates. On the other hand, Jackson sent new lacrosse equipment to Stiles, and the complete overhaul of the Jeep that Jackson paid for might have been a bit extravagant. Jackson doesn’t want the piece of shit to break down between Beacon Hills and Berkeley, that’s all.

They climb into the van and Danny waits until they’re on the road before he asks, “So Stiles has to know that I know you two are dating. Why’d you both avoid doing anything in front of me?”

It’s not something Jackson can explain, so he just shrugs. “Maybe he’s nervous, I don’t know. That was our first kiss.” And that kind of bothers him, that it was such a quick thing, fleeting and over before Jackson had a chance to even enjoy it. He makes a noise, crosses his arms and slinks low in his seat, trying not to inhale more of Danny’s amusement. “Laugh it up,” he grumbles, and that just makes Danny laugh more.

#

They stop for lunch on the road, and Jackson Snapchats Stiles a picture of his curly fries with the caption _thinking of you_. He gets back a picture of Stiles’s grinning face, followed quickly by one of Stiles with his lips puckered up in a kiss. His phone buzzes with an incoming text.

 _Missing you, too. Don’t eat too much. I’m making dinner. Sort of. By the way, Dad’s on shift tonight. Plenty of time to get you settled in_.

Nerves twist deep in Jackson’s gut, and he sets his phone down, takes a moment to breathe.

“You okay?” Danny asks, and Jackson nods quickly.

“So if we’ve been dating online for this long, do you think jumping into bed is too fast?” Jackson tries to make it sound like he’s not nervous, but from the way Danny puts his fork down and pushes aside his pie, he knows he’s failed. He grabs a fry, shoves it in his mouth to cover the awkward start to the conversation, but Danny just waits.

“Are you actually nervous about sex?” Danny finally asks when Jackson does nothing but chew.

“With Stiles? Yeah.” Jackson rolls his eyes, because it’s stupid. It’s just _Stiles_. “He’s the first guy.”

“You came out to me as bi when we were in eighth grade,” Danny says slowly. “That’s why I explained to you that you’re not my type.”

“I’m everyone’s type,” Jackson says idly, because it’s what he’s always said. “And just because I knew I liked guys didn’t mean I got involved with any of them. I never really felt drawn to casual sex. Unlike some people I know.”

“And that is why you’re not my type. Besides, I’m never casual; I’m a serial monogamist.” Danny leans on the table. “Jackson, the only people I know that you’ve dated have been Lydia and Stiles.”

He can’t deny it, so he shrugs, raises both eyebrows as if to say _so_?

“So, is Lydia the only person you’ve ever had sex with?” Danny raises his hands. “No judgment. We all know I fall in love too fast. I’m not going to say anything about someone who falls in love slowly.”

Jackson worries the phrase around in his mind, not sure that’s the right way to put it. “I loved Lydia,” he says slowly. He raises his hand, waves the waitress over and gets a box for the rest of his meal to go. “I’m just dating Stiles.”

“Wait for sex until you’re ready, then.” Danny finishes his pie in two bites, pushes the plate away again as soon as he’s done. “If Stiles is interested, he’ll wait too. Don’t worry about it. If he puts out rose petals and offers to suck your dick as a welcome back to Beacon Hills present, say no if you’re not ready. It’ll work out.”

Nerves are a sick twist in Jackson’s stomach, and he doesn’t know if it’s about the idea that Stiles might want sex right away, or a fear that he won’t, or something else entirely. He just grabs his box and walks out, buckles himself into the passenger seat of the van, and stares out the window. Danny doesn’t need constant conversation, and when Danny twists the music louder, Jackson takes that as permission to close his eyes and try to doze as the miles pass.

#

Jackson texts Stiles when they get to the edge of Beacon Hills, but there’s no response. Danny pulls into the driveway twenty minutes later, and Jackson opens the door to the van. He pauses before he gets out, nose assaulted by the thick scent of hot oil and something sweet on top of that. He opens his mouth, closes it. Frowns. “What the fuck?”

Danny pulls Jackson’s bag out of the back, tosses it to him. “This is where I abandon you and wish you good luck, Jackson. Let me know when the rest of your stuff comes in and I’ll help you pick it up. I can fit more shit in this van than Stiles can in the Jeep. Between the two of us, we should be able to carry everything you had shipped.”

Danny’s heartbeat is steady but a little quicker than usual. “You know what’s going on,” Jackson says slowly.

“Not exactly, but I can guess.” Danny waves, climbs in the van. “Have fun. Text me when you want to go out, and let me know if we’re doubling or if it’s just you and me. Lydia promised a party—I’ll make sure she gives you a few days to settle in first.”

It doesn’t help settle Jackson’s nerves the way Danny backs out of the driveway and just leaves him there, like Jackson’s on the set of some horror show, checking into a sketchy motel. This is the Stilinski house. This is where Jackson is going to live until it’s time to move into the dorm at Berkeley. There is nothing strange about this place.

Except maybe Stiles. No one can argue that Stiles is strange.

Jackson tosses his bag over his shoulder, makes his way up the steps and raps on the door.

It’s pulled open before he barely touches the wood, and Stiles grabs his shoulder, pulling him inside. “You’re just in time,” Stiles says, grabbing the bag and dropping it on the floor before he pushes Jackson toward the kitchen. “I can’t believe I managed to time it that perfectly. Danny’s very predictable when he’s driving, which is helpful, but honestly, I need to catch it before it burns.” Stiles shoulders his way past Jackson, slides to a stop in front of the stove.

The scent of oil is thicker here, matched by sweet fried dough. It makes Jackson’s mouth water, and he watches as Stiles flips a latticework of fried dough out of the pan and onto a plate. Stiles switches off the flame, then grabs two shakers and dusts the dough first with powdered sugar, then with cinnamon sugar. He sets it on the kitchen table and pulls out a chair.

“You don’t eat funnel cake sitting at a table.” It’s not the right reaction, but Jackson’s having a tough time finding better words than that. Besides, it’s true. “You’re supposed to eat it while walking around a fair.”

Wait.

“You were listening when I was talking to Danny about that thing I went to in England,” Jackson realizes. “You were listening when I was talking about missing how things are here, and carnivals, and fair food. And fried dough and funnel cakes.”

“There are recipes online,” Stiles admits, his hands spread. “I couldn’t get a cotton candy machine, and besides, you said you could get that there. Candy floss. But this is pretty much an American thing, so I figured. Well. Welcome home, Jackson.”

 _Welcome home_. Well, huh.

Jackson picks up the plate, tugs a piece free and pops it in his mouth, sweet and melty and perfectly fried crisp and greasy. He might whine slightly; he thinks he does, from the way Stiles’s ears go bright red at the tips. He licks his lips and tastes powdered sugar and cinnamon. The next piece he tears off he holds up to Stiles’s lips, waits until Stiles opens his mouth before he tucks it in, dragging his finger purposefully across Stiles’s lower lip and leaving a trail of sweet white powder.

Stiles definitely moans when he chews and swallows, and Jackson feels that in his gut, in his knees, in the sudden tightness of his jeans.

“You’ve got—” Jackson interrupts himself mid-gesture, cradling the back of Stiles’s head, pulling him closer so he can taste the sweet sugar from Stiles’s lips, flicking his tongue against the closed seam until Stiles opens his mouth.

This kiss is still soft and sweet, but this time it isn’t quick. Jackson luxuriates in it, lingers over the taste of Stiles and funnel cake, sighs as Stiles leans into him, kissing him back.

“I take it you like my surprise?” Stiles asks when the kiss finally breaks. Jackson is loathe to let him go, crowds him back against the kitchen counters, nuzzles at his throat so he can be rewarded by a soft whine. “Jackson?”

“Yeah, I like the surprise.” Jackson pulls back a bit, their hips fit together, his hands sliding over Stiles’s arms. “I thought you were setting up rose petals and a seduction scene.”

He’s surprised when Stiles flushes, nerves sour in his scent. “Uh, yeah, well. You promised me aggressive cuddling when you got here.” Stiles’s gaze drops away, stares at the floor. “I figured sex can wait. We’ve been together, but we haven’t been together yet. I’m not in a rush.”

That twist in Jackson’s gut eases finally, lets him relax, boneless against Stiles, soft and easy as he noses in close for another kiss. “Good, neither am I,” he whispers against Stiles’s lips. “On the other hand, I am more than ready for those cuddles. And more funnel cake. If you’re interested in that.”

He can feel the answering smile, feel the way Stiles’s words form. “Very. Let’s go get aggressive on the couch.”

Jackson lets go of Stiles, laughing when Stiles darts away. Jackson grabs the plate of funnel cake and drops onto the couch next to Stiles, as Stiles starts up a movie. It’s just like every date they’ve had so far, except this time Jackson can touch Stiles. Taste him. Cuddle up close and mark him with his scent. Add in the funnel cake, and for a not exactly first date, it’s pretty much perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
